


Swings

by RedXD



Category: Original Work
Genre: Children, Developing Friendships, Gen, Implied/Referenced Alcohol Abuse/Alcoholism, Implied/Referenced Child Abuse, Implied/Referenced Domestic Violence, Original Fiction, Original Universe, POV First Person, Short Story, The story is from a child's perspective
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-01-27
Updated: 2021-01-27
Packaged: 2021-03-14 12:46:56
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,858
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28920798
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/RedXD/pseuds/RedXD
Summary: [Not a Fanfiction]I met a girl today.She's lucky.(My Creative Writing Class Final was an original short story and I'm quite proud of mine, so I'm posting it here. I don't plan on posting other non-fanfiction original works anytime in the future since that's not really what this site is usually for, but this is here for anyone interested. These characters aren't specific to this story alone, but I wrote it pretending they were, so there shouldn't be much confusion about that hopefully.)
Relationships: Original Female Character & Original Male Character
Comments: 2
Kudos: 5





	Swings

**[Warning for Graphic Content/Themes ahead]**

I met a girl today.

She has dark hair like me, but it’s longer and has a red hue that mine has never had. Her skin is much paler than mine, but her eyes are blue like mine. Her blue is like the sky, though; light and airy. Mine are my mom’s, a bold peacock blue.

Unlike me, the girl is lucky.

She’s just like everyone else in that way.

+++

My mom drives us away from our small house early in the morning. She tells Father that we are going to get groceries and do laundry. He just nods like usual and lets us leave with the promise of doing chores. Other days he yells and yells, but today he’s out of beer, and beer is what makes him scary.

Mom pulls the front door shut. Once the darkness of our house has left us, replaced by an early morning sunshine, Mom speaks to me in soft whispers.

“You’re going to meet good people today.” She smiles at me.

“Are they like Father?”

Her eyes go sad the way they always do when talking about Father. “No, they’re not like him.”

Even though there is still something sad in her eyes, she smiles, and whenever she smiles, I do too. If she’s happy, then I have no reason not to be happy. I don’t think she’s actually happy much at all, but I could be wrong. Maybe happy people cry at night, I don’t really know.

We leave after that, huddled into Father’s old car. It looks just like my tiny truck, except it’s blue and my tiny truck is orange. I got it a year ago on my 8th birthday as a gift from my mom. Father doesn’t know my favorite color, so even though she told me it was from both of them, I know it really wasn’t. They never actually share gifts. Mom does all the thinking. When she does the thinking, I get orange trucks instead of a toothbrush, so I don’t mind pretending it’s a shared gift. 

I watch the big trees - Mom calls them hemlock - pass by us as she drives. Eventually, hemlock turns into houses all huddled together, like the men in the sports on TV Father likes to watch. I watch sports sometimes too, but I like soccer and Father doesn’t. He thinks soccer players run too much, like cowards. He likes football better because the guys are big and push each other around.

In front of one of the houses are two girls, one my age and one much smaller. They are running around and playing tag, their yellow hair tied up in little ponytails.

They must be siblings. I’ve never had a sibling before, and Mom says I never will. Something about Father not allowing it. It looks fun to have a friend all the time. At school I have four friends and two best friends. I don’t get to see my friends very often because Father doesn’t like them. I only get to play with them at school, but school isn’t for another few months.

The two girls disappear before long. Mom pulls the car into the driveway of a two story house that’s yellow and white, with a tall tree beside the driveway. The tree’s trunk is thick with little initials carved all over it. There’s a small swing made from rope and a tire that hangs from the largest branch. Flowers of all shapes, sizes, and colors decorate the base of the tree where the roots are. There’s no flowers at my house. Our big trees are all boring; there’s no writing in them. There’s a lot of weeds, too, that only ever get taken out once a year. Mom knows a nice college kid who pulls them when Father isn’t home. We don’t have a swing, because Father thinks it’s stupid. He thinks flowers are stupid, too.

“Ryan, sweetie, I need you to do something for me,” Mom tells me while we’re still inside the truck.

I look at her, at her pretty brown hair and blueberry eyes, and I nod. She never makes me do anything that’s bad. Not like Father. He makes me bring him things, cook him food, and clean up his spills when Mom is at work. Mom only ever asks me to do things that are okay to do.

“Don’t tell anyone in this house about your father okay?”

We don’t usually talk about Father often, anyways. Mom never likes talking about him and I don’t like talking about him because she doesn’t like me to. Mom likes to pretend he doesn’t exist when we leave the house. That’s why she covers her skin with that weird cream that makes her bruises go away.

“Okay Mom.”

She smiles her safe smile, the one with no teeth that crinkles her eyes, and then she ruffles my hair. “That’s my tiger.”

After that, we enter the warm house. I ready myself for the inside to be as dark as our house, but it’s just as bright as outside. There’s plants in colorful pots and bookshelves. It smelled nice too, like cookies and flowers instead of like someone needing a shower.

A round woman with dark hair and emerald green eyes greets us at the door. Behind her is a tall stick figure-like man with blue eyes and square glasses. They both have smiles on their faces and greet my mom when we walk inside. The woman hugs Mom tightly and laughs around a “It’s good to see you!”

Behind the two is a little girl that could only be a year younger than me. She clings to the man’s leg tightly, staring at me. He must be her father. I wonder what it’s like to be allowed to cling to your father. I’ve seen lots of people my age cling to their father before. If I did that, Father would smack me on the head and tell me to “man up.”

The girl’s eyes match her father’s blue ones, but she has no glasses in front of hers. Instead, strands of hair fall in front of her face. Tucked under her arm is a stuffed cactus. I used to have a stuffed giraffe named Friend. I named him that because he was my first and only friend. Friend died, though, when Father said a six year old was too old for Friend. My eyes meet hers and, in a flash, her head is hidden behind the man’s leg.

The woman hugging my mom looks over at me with a curious gaze. “Is this Ryan?”

Mom nods, messing up my hair again. “It is.”

“It’s nice to meet you Ryan. My name is Glenda.”

Her voice carries a patronizing tone that makes anger bubble up inside me. I cross my arms tightly in front of me and frown, sticking my nose up.

“Don’t treat me like a kid.”

Glenda’s eyes widen and she jumps back a little. Her eyes zip to Mom’s and she looks confused.

Mom giggles from behind me and places a hand on my shoulder. Her face dips down and I hear her voice in my ears, barely above a whisper. “What have we said about strangers sweetie?”

I don’t like that I have to apologize when I’m the one being patronized by an adult, but when I meet Mom’s soft eyes I know I should do so anyways. I notice in the edge of my vision that the girl behind the man’s leg is staring at me in awe.

“Sorry Ma’am.”

Glenda’s face breaks into a laugh and she waves her hand around, “Oh deary it’s alright, you just caught me off guard.” Her face turns to her husband and I watch them converse.

“He reminds me of you when we were younger Barry.”

The man tilts his head at me and pushes up his glasses with a finger, “He sure has spirit.” A chuckle erupts from his throat.

I’m not sure why what I said excites these adults so much, but the attention is kind of fun. It’s weird compared to home. The man, Barry, turns his attention from me to the girl behind his leg after a second, though.

He nudges her from out behind his leg, her tiny hand quickly ending up holding his. I imagine what it’d be like to hold my own father’s hand. It’d probably be sweaty and gross, but I suppose Father is much less clean than Barry.

“Ana, why don’t you introduce yourself?”

The girl’s eyes don’t look at me directly, instead she goes to stare at my mom. Recognition passes over her face. “Miss Sonia?”

I turn to my mom and notice the way she seems to know the girl already.

  
“It’s nice to see you again Analise.”

“You too.”

There’s silence for a moment and then Mom nudges me toward the girl. “This is my son Ryan.”

I wrinkle my nose at the nudging from both sides and eventually just reach forward, snatching the little girl’s pale hand in mine. My feet, in their orange sneakers with the pair of white socks Father got me for Christmas, carry me and the girl towards the front door.

“I can introduce myself Mom! We’ll be outside so you guys can talk about grown up stuff while we’re gone.”

Mom giggles and hums through a warm smile. “Okay, but stay in their front yard for me, okay?” She spares a glance at Glenda and Barry. “Is it alright with you?”

Glenda’s big green eyes sparkle like her bright red lipstick around her grinning lips. “Of course!”

I don’t wait for anything more, once I hear the okay from the adults. My fingers wrap around the door knob and pull it open. Once I’ve dragged the girl outside with me, the door shuts with a loud squeak.

After the door is shut, I let go of her hand.

I hold my head tall and spit on my hand, sticking it out like I’ve seen in some of the movies Father used to watch. “I’m Ryan. I like your cactus!”

Her arm tightens around the stuffed cactus, squeezing it tight. She glances at me, but our eyes don’t meet for long before her gaze moves to my hand. After a moment, she slowly reaches out and grabs my pinky finger, shaking it instead of my hand.

My hand drops to my side and I wonder if she watches different movies with _her_ father. Maybe they watch movies like the one with the legos that I saw on a poster in town. Father doesn’t like those kinds of movies. Maybe Barry does. Maybe she gets to pick movies to watch. Maybe she’s lucky like everyone else. I’m not lucky.

There’s a sharp tightness in my chest, but I ignore it as the girl finally speaks.

“I’m….My name is...” She squeezes the cactus tighter as if it’ll help her push words out of her mouth. “I’m Analise.”

Finally, she looks me in the eyes. I can almost see her shoulders rise ever so slightly. “His name is Blue.”

“Who?”

“My cactus.”

I glance at the plushie and then back at her. “Oh. Cool.” It reminds me of Friend. I frown. “Aren’t you too old for Blue?”

Analise shakes her head with a small smile. “Daddy says you’re never too old to hug someone you love.”

Father’s never said that.

After a moment, I motion to the swing nearby, “Can I swing?”

She shrugs, “If you want to.”

That’s enough for me. I spin on my heel and all but throw myself at the swing. It looks a little different than some of the swings I’ve seen in movies, but it’s more than I could ever want.

Once I’m atop the tire, I grip the rope and turn my head to Analise. “Can you push me?”

Analise’s eyes widen and she points a finger at herself in disbelief, “You want me to?” Invisible stars fill her little blue pupils with excitement.

“Who else is here?” I giggle.

Her finger drops and after a moment she smiles with a few small giggles leaving her lips.

“That’s true.”

She disappears behind me and starts to push the big tire with Blue the cactus. Wind brushes my cheeks as the tire swings forward for a few seconds before the air drags it back. Excitement overwhelms me and I feel the same way I did when I got my orange truck.

The process repeats. The tire goes up and back, up and back. My lungs start to ache from my own laughter. Little giggles accompany mine from behind me, where Analise stands pushing the tire for me.

After the twelfth push, I go up and my grip loosens on the rope. I’ve seen kids lift their arms out when swinging in movies.

THUMP!  
  
I slide right off the tire and onto the grass beneath it. I didn’t expect falling to be fun too, so my laughter doesn’t stop, only worsening. This must be what other kids always feel like.  
  


Analise pokes my shoulder from above. “Are you okay?”

Grass tickles my neck, legs, and arms. There’s bits of moist dirt that stick to me. My butt is a bit sore.

“Yeah! That was awesome. You wanna try?”

She snorts and her smile grows wonky. “I’d rather not without my brother.”

“You have a brother?” The tone of my voice makes me cringe. It sounds like Father’s bottles when he throws them at Mom. It’s only ever happened once or twice, on the really bad days. Thinking of it only makes my throat close more.

“Yeah I do. He’s at a friend’s house today though.” Her voice drops to a whisper. “He has a lot of friends.” She stuffs her face into Blue the cactus. I hear another whisper. “A _lot_.”

I lower my head and stare at the ground. I’m the only person I know that’s an only child. The thought makes my chest tighten and I’m not quite sure why.

Analise sits down beside me and pokes the ground with her finger. “Y’know, you’re lucky.”

The statement sounds so weird, I almost laugh. My eyes remain trained on my orange sneakers. Is it good luck to have a scar on your hand and have to stretch the truth - that’s what Mom calls it - about how you got it? Is it good luck to always wait hours for your mom to pick you up from school after she finishes work? Is it good luck to cry on birthdays? To “out-grow” Friend? I wonder if I have much luck at all. Maybe I was born wrong.

“I am?”

She picks at the grass. “You’re braver than I could ever be. I can’t talk to people.”

“You’re talking to me.”

“I am?” Surprise overtakes her face and she smiles, “I guess I am.”

Her hands stop picking at the grass.

“You’re easier to talk to. My mom has trouble talking to me because I have trouble talking to her.”

I lean back onto my hands and stare at her. Mom said not to talk about Dad, but I want to tell her things.

Instead, I settle for a simpler response. “You’re the lucky one.”

“Because I can’t talk to people?”

“No,” I shake my head and look at her. “You have a brother and a swing.”

She shrugs the comment off. “Yeah, but the swing is kind of pointless without any friends.”

I’ve always thought that friends were pointless without any swing. Maybe I was wrong.

My mouth works faster than my head. It does that sometimes. Mom uses a big fancy word to describe it. The word is really long with lots of letters. ‘Impulsive’ is the word, I think.

“I could be your friend.” I suggest. “I’d get a swing and you’d get a friend.”

Analise leans forward and stares in amazement at me. “Really?”

There’s a warmth that fills my face as she grins up at me. She looks kinda like how I felt just a little bit ago when I was swinging.

“Well yeah, you seem nice.”

We stare at each other for a moment before giggles overtake us both. She squeezes Blue real tight and leans forward through her giggling. I fall over onto the ground.

I kick my feet in the air.

“You’re fun to laugh with Analise!”

She copies me, falling backward, and kicks her feet in the air, too. “You, too!”

I met a girl today. She’s friends with a plushie too, but she won’t ever outgrow hers. I wonder if she’ll share Blue, so that I can hug him. Maybe I won’t outgrow plushies that way, too. I thought she was lucky because she had a swing, but she’s got me thinking that a swing by itself might not make her house any better than mine. What good is a swing without someone to push you? Maybe it’s not swings, but who you have, that makes you lucky.

I met a girl today. She’s just like me, and we’re both lucky. Because we have each other.

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks for reading 
> 
> The characters in this short story are the children versions of teenage OCs I have a plot for. If you'd like to see art of either of them (As teenagers/adults) (I doubt anyone is invested enough to care but I thought I'd mention it anyways) then I have a tag with a bunch of art of the characters located on my instagram (@musicfreakred)


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